


The Scent of a Man

by torino10154



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, Light Angst, M/M, One Night Stands, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:37:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torino10154/pseuds/torino10154
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title is explained best <a href="http://younginrome.com/2012/04/19/word-of-the-day-brutta-figura/">here</a>.</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco wakes up when it's still dark. He slowly becomes aware of his surroundings including a man in bed beside him snoring softly and flashes back to the night before.

He'd planned to take him from behind, another nameless and faceless man in a long steady stream, but he'd insisted they have sex face to face and constantly touched Draco's face and hair almost tenderly. Nothing like Draco's usual one-off that was quick and impersonal. 

The man's chest is bare, rising and falling as he breathes, and Draco shivers remembering how he'd licked and kissed the scar on his chest as he'd thrust his hips, firm body writhing beneath him, urging him on. 

He wishes he could stay, he's tempted to make love to this man again. For surely they weren't just fucking last night. There was a connection between them that Draco had never experienced before.

And at the age of thirty-three, wasn't that a depressing thought. 

He leans over him and inhales deeply, storing away the masculine scent in the recesses of his mind. He knows it's strange but scent memory is strong and he doesn't want to forget.

Before he leaves, he takes one last look at his face, memorising the features, even though he is certain that he's using a glamour. Long, thin nose, full lips, and dark stubble now casting a shadow across his jaw. 

After making sure he hasn't forgotten anything, Draco takes a deep breath and slips out the front door before Disapparating.


	2. To the Point of Distraction

"All right, Malfoy?" 

Draco snapped his head up. "My apologies, Minister."

Kingsley clapped him on the shoulder. "You're due for a holiday, if you'd like to take it."

"No, sir. Just a bit distracted today."

And every day for the last week, truth be told. If Draco had known that he'd be obsessed with the man he'd spent the night with Saturday, he would have stayed and got his number or address. 

Or name.

Draco _had_ been given a name when they met but, as with the glamour, he didn't believe it for a moment. There was something about the look "Bevan" had given him when he said it which suggested he lied about it often but not well. 

Replaying every moment—especially the sex, at night before he went to bed and in the shower the next day—Draco couldn't get him out of his mind. 

Draco was angry with himself that he lacked the discipline to stay focused and that Kingsley, of all people, had noticed. 

"If that's the case, then I need you to accompany me this afternoon. Auror Potter and I have a meeting in Whitehall. Three o'clock."

Draco felt his jaw clench. Potter. Soon-to-be Head Auror. 

The Wizarding world's darling.

He avoided Potter as best he could, though they both worked in the Ministry. There had been a time, many years ago, when he thought that perhaps they might be able to leave the past behind but that was just foolishness. 

"I'll be ready, sir."


	3. The Bitter Truth

Draco pulled a suit from the small Ever Pressed wardrobe in his office and dressed in plenty of time for Kingsley's meeting. 

If he checked his hair more than once, well, he wanted to be sure the Ministry maintained its stellar reputation with the Muggle government.

Merlin knew Potter's hair would be a disaster. He frowned.

"You look stunning, love," the mirror said flirtatiously.

"This is going to be an excruciating afternoon," Draco muttered to himself and headed out of his office toward the lifts.

Kingsley was already waiting, though Draco knew he wasn't late. He was never late when the Minister was expecting him.

"Once Harry gets here, we'll be on our way." 

"Typical that he'd be late," Draco said snidely, unable to help himself.

"Draco," Kingsley said, a note of warning in his voice. 

Before Draco could reply, Potter turned a corner and strode up to them, dressed rather like a detective straight out of a Muggle film. 

"Nice coat, Potter." 

Draco expected to throw Potter off his game but much to his surprise, Potter laughed. 

He held out his arms and looked down at the coat. "They don't sell anything like this at Gladrags, do they?"

Draco scrunched up his nose. "No, they do not."

"Shall we, gentlemen?" Kingsley asked.

"Of course, sir," Potter said and pressed the button for the lift.

The rattling sound got louder as the lift approached and finally stopped when it arrived at their floor. 

Kingsley stepped in first, followed by Draco, then Potter who slid the gate closed. 

More people got on at every floor and soon Draco was in the back corner with Potter directly in front of him.

And that's when he smelled it. He bent his head fractionally and inhaled. There was no question in his mind. He would recognise that scent anywhere.

Draco's stomach flipped and he felt like he couldn't breathe. 

How could Potter be the one?

"Bloody hell," he said more loudly than he intended to because Potter turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Am I crowding you?"

A surge of anger flashed through Draco. _He_ hadn't been the one wearing a glamour that night and he'd used his own name. Potter knew exactly who he'd been with and had the gall to pretend otherwise.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Potter," Draco said with as much venom as he could muster, "but I'm on to you."

Potter's eyes widened. "I don't know what you're—" he started to say but then the lift stopped and the occupants poured out into the Atrium. 

"Excuse me," Draco said, pushing past Potter. He walked up to Kingsley and refused to look at Potter as they approached the Floos. 

"Number Twelve, Downing Street," Kingsley said and stepped into the Floo. 

"Draco, wait," Potter said, grabbing his arm. 

"The Minister is waiting, Auror Potter." Draco jerked out of his grasp and threw a fistful of Floo powder into the grate, repeated the address and stepped into the green flames.


	4. Una Brutta Figura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is explained best [here](http://younginrome.com/2012/04/19/word-of-the-day-brutta-figura/).

The meeting was going well as far as Draco could tell. Kingsley seemed to have the Other Minister eating out of his hand at any rate, always a good sign.

There was no doubt Kingsley had charisma and a little magic went a long way with Muggles. 

Draco, however, felt like a cauldron about to bubble over. Potter kept shooting him glances and it was a small wonder Draco hadn't ruined everything and hexed him where he stood.

Did Potter really think he was that stupid? What would he gain from sleeping with Draco?

It was no secret Draco was gay so it couldn't be for blackmail purposes. Besides this was Potter not Blaise. Blackmail wasn't in his repertoire. 

Thinking back, Draco was most disgusted because he'd genuinely felt a connection that night. Yet another of life's ironies. Draco was used to them by now. 

"I just need a word with the Minister alone, gentleman," Kingsley said as the rest of the Muggle government officials exited the meeting room. He turned to Draco and Potter. "If you would just wait for me in the corridor and then we will return to the Ministry."

Draco nodded and walked out the door, happy to be free of the stuffy room.

"What's going on with you, Malfoy?" Potter said, too loudly, as far as Draco was concerned. 

Draco mentally counted to ten in French and then in Russian, controlling his breathing to make himself relax. He could not let Potter get the best of him, especially not while they were representing the Ministry.

"I can't do this here, Potter. I won't." Draco said, voice like ice. "I, unlike some, am a professional."

But Potter pressed on, like a bull in a china shop. "I have no idea what your issue is or why you're so agitated with me. We aren't seventeen anymore. A few hours in my presence shouldn't be that difficult to bear."

Something in Draco snapped. He gripped Potter's arm and hissed, "Surely you haven't already forgotten Saturday night, _Bevan_."

Potter's eyes widened and his face went red. He opened his mouth but Draco wasn't through with him.

"Did you really believe I wouldn't figure it out? It was no surprise at all you'd be the type to _beg_ for a cock in your arse, you lying bast—"

"It was my pleasure," Kingsley was saying as he stepped out into the corridor. 

Draco couldn't let go of Potter's arm fast enough and Kingsley looked at them both with a puzzled frown on his face. 

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" he asked, stepping into the space between them.

"No," Draco said curtly. 

"No, sir," Potter said at the same time.

As they headed toward the exit, Draco fumed, enraged that Potter had made him lose his cool in front of Kingsley. 

They stepped into the Floo and in no time found themselves back at the Ministry. 

Before Draco could escape, Kingsley said, "Both of you take the afternoon off."

"That isn't necessary—" Potter started but Kingsley held up his hand, his face stony and cold. 

A rare sight indeed.

"Whatever issues you have that caused you two to make a scene like that need to be addressed immediately because if I _ever_ see a display like that again you will both be given an unpaid suspension." Kingsley paused, looking from Draco to Potter, his profound irritation apparent. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," he and Potter said simultaneously. 

"Good." He turned to Draco. "I will see you at nine tomorrow morning, and Harry," he said, turning toward Potter, "our one o'clock has been rescheduled to two thirty."

"I'll be there," Potter said, shaking Kingsley's hand.

Draco watched Kingsley as he strode toward the lifts, his anger at Potter now having morphed into something less personal. His job was more important than any one night stand even if it was with the Saviour.

He turned toward Potter with his hand on his wand, a hex on his lips.

"Let me take you to dinner," Potter said, disarming Draco in an instant.

"What?"

"Supper. A decent glass of wine." Potter shrugged. "We can talk."

"You want to talk?" Draco said, annoyed. "We could have _talked_ on Saturday."

Potter looked away and ran a hand through his hair. The memory of just how that hair had felt between his fingers washed over Draco, making his chest tight. 

"We could have talked over breakfast on Sunday morning but you left." Potter said it kindly, as if he actually regretted the fact that Draco had sneaked out in the dead of night instead of staying for the awkward morning after.

Head and heart warring over his emotions, Draco wanted nothing more than a glass of brandy and a smooth cigar to take his mind off that night. 

"So," Potter said, interrupting his thoughts, "is that a yes?"

"[Club Gascon](http://www.clubgascon.com/about.php) at nine." Even if he and Potter came to blows, he'd have had an excellent meal.

Potter's eyes brightened and a wide smile stole across his face. "Brilliant."

Draco didn't trust himself to say anything more so he turned and left without another word.


	5. The Lies Wash Away

Draco didn't wear his best—Potter didn't deserve that—but he found something appropriate for the restaurant. Black wool trousers and jacket to match, a crisp white linen shirt, and an ice blue tie.

He poured himself a measure of brandy just to take the edge off. He took a sip, relishing the warmth as the smooth liquor slid down his throat.

Harry had lied but Draco couldn't deny he wanted him.

If the situation had been reversed, would Draco have done the same? 

Draco considered the question as he finished his drink, then adjusted his tie in the mirror one last time before Disapparating.

One thing was certain. The night would end with either fighting or fucking. 

Probably both.

~*~

Draco arrived at precisely nine to find Potter waiting inside, drink in hand.

Potter smiled and made his way over to Draco, extending his free hand. 

"You made it."

"I wouldn't miss an opportunity to spend your money."

Potter laughed and lifted his glass. "Cheers."

"Your table is ready, gentlemen," the maître d' said.

"After you," Potter gestured, indicating Draco should go first. 

Draco followed the maître d' to the table, a well-placed one far from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen as well as the bathrooms. Draco was impressed. Potter was outdoing himself already.

Once they were seated, menus in hand, Draco broached the subject he'd been waiting to discuss. 

"You lied to me," he said simply, looking up from his menu as if it were the _Daily Prophet_. 

Potter's fingers visibly tightened on his menu and then he folded it closed and set it aside.

"I had hoped my actions that night spoke louder than my words," Potter said, his voice low and suggestive. "I expect that won't satisfy you though."

"No," Draco said, looking back at the menu again, not trusting himself to look Potter in the eye. "It will not."

They sat in silence perusing the menu until the waiter finally appeared to take their orders. 

" _Le Marché, s'il vous plaît_ ," Draco said, handing the waiter his menu. 

" _Avec du vin_?" the waiter asked.

" _Oui_."

Draco looked at Potter who was shaking his head but smiling. 

"For you, _monsieur_?" 

"The same, please." Potter handed the waiter his menu. Once he left, Potter said to Draco, "Trying to make me uncomfortable?"

Draco picked up his water glass and said, "No, just trying to teach you some manners."

Much to his surprise, Potter laughed. "I deserved that."

Soon the wine arrived and then course after course of exquisite food. By the time they reached the final course, Draco was well satisfied and a little bit tipsy. 

"I've never had a meal quite like that," Potter said, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. 

Draco crinkled his nose. "More likely to get a pint and some steak and kidney pie at the pub around the corner from your flat?"

"I'm partial to their fish and chips if you must know."

"I suppose there is football on the telly as well," he said sarcastically.

Potter grinned. "We could go for a round of darts if you prefer."

Draco stood. "Perhaps not."

"Listen," Potter said, reaching for his arm. "Let's go for a walk. The river's not far."

"Planning to have someone steal back the Galleons you just spent on supper?" Draco asked.

Giving Draco's hand a squeeze, Potter said, "I'd happily spend it again."

They stepped outside, rain starting to fall. 

Potter held out his hand, palm up. "Maybe it's not the best night for a walk after all."

Draco rolled his eyes and flicked his wand. "I plan to remain dry using a lovely little spell called the Impervius Charm. You might want to try it."

"I'm all right," Potter said and started down the street, walking backward so he was facing Draco, whistling.

Draco should have known. Potter was mad. That was the only explanation. 

"You're getting wet," Draco said, catching up to him. 

"Yes," Potter said and ran his hand through his hair. "Come on. I love the way the lights reflect on the water."

"Don't think this will get you out of trouble, Potter," Draco groused. "I'm quite angry with you."

Potter stopped dead and pulled Draco close, pressing a kiss to Draco's cheek. "I can tell."

Draco pushed him away, temper rising.

Damn, he'd really hoped there would be fucking tonight but it seemed fighting was in the cards.

"You knew who I was, you lied to me and now you expect me to let you buy me dinner and go back to your place again without any explanation?"

"Who said anything about my flat?" Potter said, a smile on his lips.

"Potter," Draco said through gritted teeth. 

"Please, Draco," Potter said, "just walk with me and then I'll tell you everything."

"Tell me now."

Potter took off his glasses and rubbed his hands over his face. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his lenses and put his glasses back on. He wasn't smiling any longer.

"When I am not Harry Potter, I am free to be myself. I go out sometimes in a glamour. I usually have a few drinks, chat up some blokes, maybe a snog. Rarely more than that."

They started walking again as Potter kept talking.

"I saw you, wanted to try out my disguise. I thought you'd figure it out."

"I didn't." It pained Draco to say it but even though he'd been suspicious, he never imagined who it was. Bevan indeed.

"The more time passed, the harder it was to say something. By the time we were in bed, I knew I couldn't tell you, it was too late." Potter shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's no excuse—"

"No, it isn't," Draco said, cutting across him. 

"But it was my only chance with you because I knew you'd never forgive me if you figured it out."

They reached the Thames and a cold wind whipped around them, bringing the rain down harder. Draco was still dry but Potter was drenched. 

He couldn't have looked more pathetic. 

"You were wrong." 

Potter met his eye, obviously confused. "About what?"

"It wasn't your only chance." Draco stepped up close and wrapped his arms around Potter then Apparated them home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The menu can be found [here](http://www.clubgascon.com/library/CLUB%20GASCON%20ALC%2001JULY2014_Website.pdf) on the right hand side.


	6. Sweet Perfume

They landed in Draco's foyer, Draco wet anywhere he and Potter had touched. 

"Let's get you out of those clothes before you ruin the carpet," he said, looking down at his shoes to see if the leather had any water spots on it.

"Does that line usually work?" Potter said, unbuttoning his shirt. It was a bit of shame as it looked quite nice plastered to his body, though Draco couldn't complain about how he looked once he'd taken it off.

"You're the only wizard foolish enough not to come in out of the rain." 

Potter laughed and toed off his shoes. 

Draco's breath caught as Potter reached for the button on his trousers, desire and anticipation washing over him.

Potter looked up as he pulled the zip down and Draco closed the distance between them, his tongue slipping between Potter's soft, wet lips as his hand plunged into his pants, gripping Potter's cock firmly.

Potter slid his hand behind Draco's neck, deepening the kiss. Draco gave him a firm stroke and Potter groaned into his mouth.

"Fuck, Draco."

Draco trailed his wand over Potter's hip and his trousers and pants fell down around his ankles. 

Time stood still when Potter stepped out of them and stood before Draco, naked save his socks and glasses. 

As if in slow motion, Draco reached out and traced the oval scar on Potter's chest lightly with his fingers, again remembering the care and affection Potter had expressed the night they'd spent together.

He wouldn't be so foolish as to reject what was on offer.

Draco—dry and fully dressed—watched droplets of water fall from Potter's wet hair and roll down his bare chest.

Pulling Harry to him, Draco pressed his lips to the point where his shoulder met his neck and inhaled.


End file.
